Contrasts and contradictions
by Guyl13
Summary: Alternate ending to episode 3.5, until I find the imagination and courage to write a completely standalone Ashes to Ashes story. Would love to receive your reviews! Second and final chapter now up!
1. Chapter 1

Another case closed. Another villain apprehended - a bent copper. Bevan was heading for the cells and Litton and his Next-for-men loafers would be escorted back to Manchester, and most likely, out of the Police force. The not-so-comic Frank Hardwick might even appear on stage again.

It had been a cold and gloomy day, and heavy rain was now pounding against the CID windows, distorting the world outside. The previous 24 hours had brought with them an uneasiness that was beginning to weigh heavy on the team's shoulders, and Chris and Ray's body-popping session did little to conceal the obvious. That this day had been all about contrasts, black and white, good and bad, being in or being out. It was all the more depressing that the signs were now definitely pointing towards a bleaker outlook. An innocent man shot: bad. A washed-up old man fearing for his life: bad. A bent copper being at the root of all this crap: double bad. Gene Hunt burning Sam's jacket: shattering.

That is exactly how Alex felt. Emotions in turmoil, mind confused, heart tearing ever so lightly apart down the middle. Hell, who was she kidding? Heart being ripped out her body, if she was honest. The world which she had begun to accept was not her own creation was turning on its head, making her lose focus and blurring her ideals and pre-conceptions. Second by second, raindrop by raindrop, a shroud of uncertainty was descending upon Alex's reality, making it harder and harder for her to reason or feel her way out of this claustrophobia. Her great mind was in overload and her kind heart in tatters.

If Keats had sown the seeds of doubt, Bevan had tended to that particular garden very well, and his threats and warnings about Gene Hunt had been too significant and timely to ignore. That and the fact that he seemed terrified to reveal the entire truth to Alex, hinting that he too would take a plunge in a cold river if he didn't keep quiet.

If Alex had had the energy, she would have kicked and screamed her way out of this mess. As it was, her figure remained planted in the middle of CID, her stillness masking the storm that was raging inside her. _Damn you, Keats! Damn you, Bevan! Please someone let me out of this nightmare! I want to go home, I want to be with Molly! I want to have never met Gene Hunt…_

She almost felt guilty about having uttered such words.

_If this world isn't my own creation, then what sick mind has come up with this fantasy, this… farce? I mean, think about it, Alex: Woman psychologist treats troubled copper obsessed with by-gone world. Said copper commits suicide. Said psychologist gets shot in the head and ends up in said by-gone world eight years later, because fantasy worlds age too, didn't you know? Said psychologist fights to get home but gets more and more accustomed to her surroundings. Fantasy turns into reality. Characters become people. Hateful, infuriating coppers become friends, more than that... DCI becomes world. World shatters because stupid, pig-ignorant git of a DCI will not tell the truth. And to top it all off, said DCI might have killed original suicidal copper! At the risk of stealing someone's line, may I just say: "FAN-DA-BI-DOZY!"_.

There. Even in her angriest thoughts, he was still here, replacing her upper-class words with his own, reshaping what she considered to be her own essence with his own design, adding his very own, very personal touches. That man, over there in his den, who had just kicked his chair along the floor because Keats had won the battle and was beginning to win the war. Who knew that he and Litton were part of a dying breed of men who thought a little bit of the bad things in life went a long way towards making the whole picture a more bearable one. Who had insinuated himself into her every waking thought. Did that man know the power he had over her?

She tried to remember how it had all come to this and smiled inwardly at the thought that when young lovers were asked how their relationship had blossomed, they invariably answered "It happened so quickly". She smiled a second time when she realized she was thinking about love, even in these troubled times. The real question no longer was how she had happened upon this world, who had created it, or why. It was how she had become so embroiled in it, how she had made friends, good friends, and how she had come to wear a G-shaped brooch over her heart. It hadn't happened quickly, no. It had no beginning, no half-way point, and Alex hoped, no end. It was a fact, an inevitability. Put Gene Hunt and Alex Drake together in any world, any scenario. Shake up the whole thing and throw in different characters and situations. Good times, bad times. The main protagonists would never fail to find their way towards each other, and would eventually collide into a spectacular destiny.

But now her very destiny was hanging by a thread. The cold spanner of doubt had been thrown into the works and Keats was doing his utmost to hamper Alex's unwavering faith in Gene. He had chipped away at her loyalty bit by bit, and cracks were finally beginning to appear. A highly intelligent woman such as Alex could only curb her curiosity and ignore logic for so long. If told that two plus two equaled five often enough, she would have to correct you eventually. _Why does he never talk about Sam? Why are the circumstances surrounding his death so vague? Why has he made everything worse by destroying evidence? Why is everyone scared of him? Stay close to him and you will be fine. Stray and… And what? Well, he shot me, didn't he?_

Three years. Three years and with every passing day, Gene Hunt was slipping away, his motives and actions becoming more and more foreign to Alex. They had once been so close, destiny one step away from being fulfilled. Now he was alone in his office, brooding and dangerous, completely and utterly impossible to read. How could she have got it so wrong? Yes, he could be violent, vindictive even. But those eyes… those eyes had at times been filled with such kindness and understanding. When they were alone, and all around them was quiet, the gentleness in his voice would give her the feeling she was being wrapped up in silk. His rare smiles were trophies she cherished for weeks on end. He had saved her life countless times. He had protected her, looked out for her, let her be drunk when she wanted to lose herself, had stood by her side when she needed to be strong. Had lost faith in her. Had threatened her. Had shot her.

It had to end now. She would go mad if she had to endure another second of this torment._ Heart versus mind… Good or bad? Black or white? In or out? What if… what if my destiny really is hanging by a thread, but I am the thread?_

Alex turned to look at Gene. She knew he was watching her every move through the office windows, yet he remained as impassive as ever. She on the other hand, was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her emotions in check. _A sign, please give me a sign… Tell me what you want. Lift a finger, and I will run to you…_

Nothing. No movement, no glimmer in the eye or furrowed brow. No trepidation or resignation. Nothing. At that moment, Alex knew what she had to do. She let out a sigh and unlocked her eyes from her DCI's. She turned around and slowly made her way toward Keats.

"Do we need to talk?"

One last glance back to make sure she was doing the right thing…

"Alex?"

She could feel Gene's eyes burning into her. She had to do it, she had to say it for all their sakes.

"I am a member of this team, sir. I will no longer be used as a pawn in your game of chess. You want to fight Gene Hunt? Fine. But from now on, please do it on your own."

**To be continued…**

**Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Receiving reviews and knowing others are still obsessed with Alex and Gene makes me feel happy, so don't be shy!**


	2. Chapter 2

Keats was gone. Not out of their lives, granted. But for now, him being outside the confines of CID was enough. Everyone had stopped what they were doing when they saw Alex approach Keats, sensing that their own future was hanging in the balance. All Alex could see were several pairs of eyes locked on her. All she could hear was the growing sound of the rain beating against the windows. All she could feel was a mixture of elation and dread. She had taken a big step by telling Keats where to go, but it was nothing in comparison to the task that lay ahead of her. If she had been more aware of her surroundings, she would have been able to draw courage from the sense of pride emanating from her colleagues. Instead, as if in a trance, she was now focusing on the checkerboard pattern of the carpet.

_It's easy, Alex, you just follow the pattern to his office. One foot on one tile, the other on the next. Until you reach the door. And then you place your hand on the handle, turn it, and step inside…_

"Alex." His voice was so cold, so matter-of-factly.

"I could do with one of those", pointing to Gene's glass of whisky on the desk, unable to look him in the eye.

"Your friend will be joining us later, will he?"

"Not likely", she whispered to herself.

"Sorry? Didn't catch that." he said, louder than he needed to.

"I said… Never mind…"

"You know, there's always room for three here. Perhaps we could all go to the cinema later, have a bite to eat and tell each other our childhood stories. What do you think?"

"Shut up", her voice still barely audible.

"What?"

"I said: Shut up!"

She was looking at him now, anger and hurt blazing out of her eyes. He was trying to draw her into another boxing match, another round of giving as good as you got. Alex in the red corner, Gene in the blue corner. Ding, ding. Only one of the fighters was virtually already dead on their feet, the towel seconds from being thrown to the ground. She had to sit down, to try and stabilise herself, step aside from the situation a little. Her familiar spot by the filing cabinet was as good a place as any. She took slow, laboured steps towards her target and let herself slide down the cold surface. Firmly back on the ground again, she closed her eyes, protecting herself from the fury in Gene's voice.

Her tormentor took mercy on her and handed her the drink she had asked for. He then retreated to the other side of the office, examining his Gary Cooper poster for the thousandth time. An entire minute must have passed before either of them spoke again.

"What are you doing to me?"

He turned around, not quite understanding what she was saying.

"I mean, I didn't ask for any of this. I had a life, a little girl, a job I loved, and then suddenly, I end up here, in this… this nightmare, and I can't get back, and I can't move on." She could feel the tears building in her eyes.

"You asked for a transfer, remember?"

"I didn't believe any of this was really happening, you know. I spent the best part of a year thinking everything was just in my mind, that I could erase you all with one thought, if I found the right one. And case after case, evening after evening, I found myself forgetting, having to remember not to forget…"

"You're not making any sense, Alex."

"My old life is disappearing, Gene. Sometimes I can't even remember what my own daughter looks like." Tears were rolling down her cheeks now. "I have begun to live for who I am now, not who I used to be. I live to catch Cockney filth and scum with the team, to tear down the streets in the Quattro with you, to spend my evenings at Luigi's, alone with you…"

"It doesn't sound like such a nightmare to me."

"Perhaps it wasn't, at one point. But now... Now, I don't know what to believe anymore…"

"We're back onto that, are we?"

"I thought you had learned to trust me, Gene. I thought Operation Rose had taught you that much."

"Trust. It's a great thing, isn't it, trust?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? That weasel comes into our life, burrows his way into your head, and all of a sudden, I am the bad guy! Three years, Alex. Almost three years we have shared. I even shot you and you forgave me! You believed - no - you KNEW I was trying to protect you. And now, a few conversations with Keats, and you've decided I am a murderer! Do you know how that makes me feel, Alex? You tell me. You tell me why the HELL I should be trusting you!"

He had done it again. Turned the tables on her. And she felt awful for it. Ashamed that she had only ever considered her own point of view, and angry that Gene's true feelings were only coming out now.

"Why didn't you tell me how you feel?"

"You were too busy looking for murderers, Bolls."

She wondered if he knew how happy he had made her by reverting to her nickname. Her newfound strength made it possible for her to stand up and regain some of her composure. A few more seconds of silence elapsed.

"I told Keats to leave me alone. He won't come between us again. I promise. And for what it's worth… I'm sorry."

Gene couldn't remember the last time he had felt so much joy. That woman, who was desperately clinging on to office furniture for support, who did not quite dare look him in the eye yet, would be the death of him.

"You keep hugging that filing cabinet and I am going to start getting jealous."

She felt herself smile. The first smile in a long, long time.

"It does have one advantage over you… I can easily open it and find out what's inside."

"I think you already know, Alex". There it was. That silky feeling again…

"Do I?"

"Would you be standing here if you didn't?"

"When did you become such a good psychologist, Gene?"

"Well, you listen to enough crap and it rubs off on you eventually."

It was amazing how that man could make it from complete bastard to irresistible magnet in a matter of minutes.

"Look, er, I'm not very good with words…"

"What, the king of metaphors not good with words?"

"Them other words…"

"It's okay."

"No. No, it's not." He paused for a few seconds to think about what he was going say. "If I have made you feel all the things you just told me about, then I am glad."

"You're glad you've turned me into a sobbing wreck?"

"I told you I was crap with words…" This was so difficult for him, but she admired him all the more for it. "What I am trying to say is… I am glad you feel so strongly. About me…"

She had just managed to stop crying and he was starting her off again. Thank god the filing cabinet was still in place.

"Mr Hunt", she said, blushing. "I don't think you should put yourself down where words are concerned." She too needed to pause to gather her thoughts. "Look, it's been a long day and…"

Gene lowered his gaze, readying himself for disappointment.

"…and I would rather finish it somewhere more comfortable, wouldn't you?"

He thought he'd heard her right…

"On one condition. The cabinet stays here."

**THE END**

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**There you are! Only a short story, but I hope you enjoyed it! As always, reviews are most appreciated ****;-).**


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